


Eight Attempts at Informing Potter of His Impending Parenthood

by ennedepaix



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: wizsprogs, HP: EWE, Humor, M/M, Mpreg, crack (ish)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-11
Updated: 2012-08-11
Packaged: 2017-11-11 22:15:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ennedepaix/pseuds/ennedepaix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He should have known it was too much to ask for. Potter clearly couldn’t wait until after Draco had delivered his news to get hit by some unknown spell and end up in hospital. Again. Frankly, it was selfish of him. As for this fainting business…</p><p>For Prompt #47 On a mission gone wrong, Harry is hit with some spell and his magic immune system responded in a way so that now, anytime something remotely traumatising happens to Harry, his mind shuts down and blocks out the memories. Draco telling him he's pregnant probably counts as traumatic. In short, Draco tries to tell Harry he's pregnant six or seven (or more!) times in different ways (without traumatising him). Unfortunately for Draco, Harry seems to faint every time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eight Attempts at Informing Potter of His Impending Parenthood

**Author's Note:**

> Massive thanks to tryslora for a speedy but thorough beta! Dear kolachess, this didn’t really end up as crack!fic but I’m hoping it’ll at least make you quirk a smile. I had fun writing it so, hopefully, that comes across and you’ll have fun reading. Enjoy!

17th June

“What’s the silly bastard done now?” 

Draco crossed his arms over his chest as he waited for a reply. This visit was the fifteenth this year. Fifteen times he had been called to St Mungo’s after Harry had been injured at work. It was only June, for fuck’s sake.

“You know, one day, it’s going to be something really serious and you’re going to feel really bad for acting so… well, like _that_.”

“Is today that day, Weasley?”

“Er… Not exactly.”

“What happened, then? Please explain to me why the idiot is in his second home this time.”

“There was this raid and--” 

“On what case?”

“Why does that matter, Malfoy?” Ron asked cagily, knowing Harry was going to be really pissed off if he blabbed that particular bit of information.

“It matters, Weasley, because he was meant to be leaving on time today to meet me for dinner. I had news, Weasley. Important news. Potter was meant to leave on time. He promised me he would. He said it’d be fine because his desk is almost empty for once. Not to mention the fact that none of his current cases should involve any kind of _raid_. To top it off, you’re here and his partner isn’t. All of this leads me to believe that he was lending a hand on one of _your_ cases.”

“I… Malfoy, listen… Look, the thing is… Erm…”

“Weasley, if you don’t start telling me the truth, I swear I will start describing - in _graphic_ detail - how good Potter is in bed,” Draco warned. Ron grimaced but kept quiet. “Fine,” Draco said. “This morning, when I woke up, Potter had his head between my legs. He started off licking the inside of my thigh but the man’s got no patience so it wasn’t long before his tongue was on my cock. For someone who’s so shit with words, he’s got a very dextrous tongue. Anyway, he licked and stroked me until I was begging him to suck me.” Draco paused to take in Ron’s expression. It really was delightfully disgusted. “Did you know he can take me all the way down his throat, Ronald?” Draco asked lightly. Ron screwed his eyes shut.

“Please, Malfoy.”

“Hmm, that’s what he was saying when it was his turn. ‘Oh, please, Malfoy… You’re so fucking good, Draco… I want your mouth, Draco… I want your fingers up my--’”

“Fine, it was my case!”

“For fuck’s sake, Weasley!”

“Sorry! I was desperate; my partner’s an imbecile.”

“Oi!” a whiny voice interjected from the other side of the corridor.

“Oh, bugger off, Timmons,” Ron snapped. “Look, Malfoy, I am sorry.”

“I don’t want you to be sorry, Weasley. I want you to have an entirely limp cock the next time Granger allows you near her of an evening.”

“Please, Malfoy, she was livid last time you made that happen.”

“And that’s my problem… how?”

“Because you were the one who hexed me!”

“And, yet, she agreed it was a suitable punishment.”

Ron huffed. “I hate that you’re friends with her.”

Draco patted his shoulder. “There, there,” he said condescendingly. “The world’s a cruel and heartless place, Weasley.” Draco heard footsteps approaching.

“Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco turned. “Yes?”

“Good evening, Mr. Malfoy, I’m Healer Marlowe. I’ve been treating Auror Potter.”

“Right. Hello. What did the idiot manage to get hit with this time?” Draco asked. Healer Marlowe frowned slightly at Draco’s choice of words but replied,

“The spell Auror Potter was hit with affected his magical defences.”

“What on earth does that mean?”

“The attacker assumed the spell meant to make Potter collapse, incapacitated, whenever he felt threatened or fearful. Presumably, the attacker thought this would allow him to get away, assuming Potter would be scared at that particular time.”

“Potter’s too pig-headed to be scared of anything,” Draco muttered.

“Well, it makes no difference. The actual effect of the spell only occurs when something _traumatic_ happens to Auror Potter.”

“So, something traumatic happens and… what?”

“His intrinsic magic shuts down his body, causing him to collapse or faint, and it will also prevent him from remembering whatever it was he found traumatising.”

“What sort of things will trigger the spell? Traumatic is a strong word. Surely, it won’t happen very often.”

“It depends entirely on what Auror Potter personally considers traumatic.”

Draco sighed. “It could be Spurs losing a match that does it, in that case. Is it permanent?”

“No. Long-lasting, yes, but not permanent. Generally, it will last six to eight months. We can’t be too specific.”

“Right. Look, I’m sure most people would seem more upset, and I know I should care about the ins and outs but I really don’t. To be honest, I’m only really asking questions to be polite. Can you just take me to him?”

“Of course. I’m sure you’d like to spend some time with him,” Healer Marlowe said, leading Draco further down the corridor.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Draco muttered under his breath. A few moments later, the Healer stopped outside an open door. 

“Here we are, Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco glanced inside the room to see Harry sitting, fully clothed, on a bed, while a nurse fussed around him. 

“He looks fine. I think I’ll go now.”

“Well, Mr. Malfoy, I thought you’d like to sit with your partner for a while.”

“Do you want everybody on this floor to listen to me yell at him for going out on a raid - _voluntarily_ \- when he was meant to be spending his evening with me? Do you want me to disturb your patients with a great deal of, what will undoubtedly be classified as, shrieking? Because I will.”

The Healer frowned. “I suppose not.”

“Draco!” Harry called. Draco turned to see Harry waving and grinning at him. Draco smiled insincerely, gave him the finger and turned back to Healer Marlowe.

“I think it’s best for everyone if I go home and continue watching my Ice Road Truckers marathon.”

“Ice Road… What?”

“Oh, it’s a Muggle telly programme. Ice Road Truckers. It’s brilliant. They have these massive trucks they have to drive across frozen wastelands and it’s always really dramatic; a race against time. There’s another programme called Deadliest Catch. It’s about crabs.”

“Crabs?”

“Yes. Crabs. It’s essentially the same thing in every episode but it’s brilliant. Really. You should get a Sky box.”

“Right.” The Healer was looking at Draco in a manner which suggested he might direct the man to the Psychiatric ward.

“Anyway,” Draco said, “Potter let me down this evening. The Ice Road Truckers never let anyone down. Even in an Arctic storm.” With that Draco turned on his heel and strode away. Healer Marlowe watched him go before he returned to his patient.

“He’s pissed off, then,” Harry commented.

“He did mention something about being let down,” Healer Marlowe said. “Your other half is an… interesting man, Auror Potter.”

Harry snorted. “That’s a polite way of putting it.”

“He was telling me about Ice Road Truckers.”

“Oh god, I wish I’d never taught him about the television. Last month, he got obsessed with Location, Location, Location. Do you know how many episodes they show of that every week?”

“Not really. Er, he suggested I get a… box of sky, is it? How do you get sky in a box?”

“No, it’s just…” Harry sighed. “It’s a Muggle thing. Don’t worry about it.”

“Right. Well, anyway, I see no reason to keep you in any longer.”

“You mean I have to go home and actually interact with my irate boyfriend?” Harry asked, seeming genuinely horrified. “I thought you were supposed to prevent physical harm befalling your patients.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, Auror Potter,” Healer Marlowe said. Harry stood up.

“If you say so. Don’t be surprised if you see me again within the hour. Possibly missing a body part.” Harry paused, looking thoughtful as he recalled past arguments. “Or with an extra one.” 

Twenty minutes later, Harry walked into the living room of the house he shared with Draco. His boyfriend was sat on the sofa, legs curled under him as he watched his Discovery Channel marathon. Harry tentatively sat on the other end of the sofa.

“I’m sorry, Draco.”

“Shut up.”

Harry knew better than to go against that particular demand. After five minutes or so, Draco started to shift and fidget. He turned, lay down and rested his head in Harry’s lap.

“This doesn’t mean I’m not angry,” he said. “It doesn’t mean you’re allowed to speak. It just means, as well as being mightily pissed off, I’m relieved you weren’t hurt. I suppose, I could see myself putting up with some hair-stroking or something,” Draco said. “Even though I haven’t forgiven you. Don’t forget that bit.”

Harry smiled and ran his fingers through Draco’s hair and over the back of his neck. Draco moved a hand to clutch at Harry’s knobbly knee and Harry knew that, even though Draco said otherwise, there wasn’t much left to be forgiven.

One

“Draco, I’ve said sorry a thousand times. I’ve cooked you all your favourite things. I’ve been home on time every day. You can’t be that angry with me anymore because I’m not being denied sex. Please. I know you had something important you wanted to talk about that night and I would really like to know what it was.”

“I’m sure you would.”

“Come on, Draco. I’ve done everything you asked.”

“Which is something you’ll have to get used to,” Draco said. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that... I imagine I’ll be – even by my standards – extremely demanding over the next seven months or so.”

Harry frowned. “Seven months… What’s going on?”

Draco smiled slightly. “I’m pregnant, Potter.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know this is a big shock but, really, there’s not much to understand. I’m pregnant. For almost two months, I have been pregnant with your child. This will continue for another seven months. We’re having a baby.”

“A… baby?”

“Yes.”

“Right.” Harry nodded jerkily before he pitched forward and fell off his chair. Draco managed to catch him by the shoulders before he hit his head on the floor.

“Potter?” Draco knelt by Harry and felt his pulse, checked his breathing. They were both normal. It was as if he had fallen asleep, albeit very suddenly and unexpectedly. “Harry, wake up.” Draco shook him. “Harry!”

No response. Draco had no idea what to do. He rushed into the living room and stood, staring at the fireplace and wondering who to call. A few minutes later, after a hurried and cryptic conversation, Hermione stepped out of the fireplace and into an empty room.

“Malfoy!” she called.

“Kitchen!”

Hermione found Draco sitting on the floor next to a sprawled and unconscious Harry. 

“What happened? You didn’t really make any sense before.”

“I told him I was pregnant and he collapsed.”

“Why would you tell him you were pregnant, Malfoy?” Hermione asked, clearly confused. Draco’s eyes narrowed.

“Because I _am_ pregnant, Granger.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Well… Congratulations?” Hermione offered uncertainly.

“For fuck’s sake, contain yourself, Granger,” Draco snapped. “Your best friend’s going to be a father; don’t get too excited.”

“Sorry, Malfoy, I’m just… surprised.”

Draco sighed. “I was, too. I meant to tell him the night he got hit by that spell. He knew I had something to important to tell him and the silly bastard still went out on a raid.”

“So, you kept it to yourself for another ten days as – what? – punishment?”

“I don’t know why I didn’t tell him,” Draco admitted. 

“How, exactly, did you break the news?” Hermione asked.

“I said, ‘I’m pregnant, Potter.’”

Hermione frowned. “That’s it.”

“What else am I meant to say? It’s not like he doesn’t understand the birds and the bees.”

“Except he’s _gay_. And grew up with _Muggles_. He probably had no idea wizards can get pregnant.”

“Oh. I hadn’t thought. Still, fainting is a bit extreme. I can’t believe it’s always me getting called a drama queen.”

“Draco, wait. The spell he was hit with.”

“Oh, you must be joking,” Draco said as he realised what she meant. “This is only meant to happen when something traumatic happens to him.”

“Well, it does sound like you were quite blunt. Maybe you should have eased into it a bit more gently.”

“Forgive me for not thinking finding out he’s going to be a father would be _traumatic_. Shocking, yes. Surprising, of course. Traumatic? Well, frankly, that’s insulting.”

“For goodness’ sake, Malfoy, it’s not as if he’s doing it on purpose.”

“Go on, take his side.”

“I’m not taking sides, you six-foot-one _child_! Now, what are we going to do when he wakes up?”

“I don’t know. Tell him that, like the Neanderthal he is, someone hit him with a club?”

“Brilliant idea. Or, we could just say… I don’t know… he fell asleep on the settee. We can get him to the front room and just leave him there until he comes to.”

“Fine. Whatever. I don’t care.”

“The alternative is telling him the truth. Do you fancy having him faint twice in a day?”

“I suppose not,” Draco admitted. “But only because it’s hassle for me, not because I’m worried about his health,” he pointed out. Unconvincingly.

Hermione nodded. “Yes, of course, Malfoy. It would be terrible to admit you’re worried about him.”

“Which I’m not.”

“Absolutely. Now, help me levitate him.”

Harry woke up on the settee about ten minutes later. He went into the kitchen and found Draco and Hermione drinking tea at the table. 

“Hello.”

“Hello, Harry,” Hermione said brightly. 

“Everything all right?” Draco asked.

“Yeah. I think… I don’t know. I must have fallen asleep on the sofa.”

“You did. I thought I’d let you sleep a bit. It’s only been half an hour or so,” Draco said. “You’ve not missed anything.” He held out the biscuit tin. “Digestive?”  
\--------- 

Later that evening as they lay in bed, Harry shuffled close to Draco and said,

“Draco, you never told me what you wanted to talk about that evening.”

“What evening?” Draco asked, looking up from his book.

“When I ended up at St Mungo’s. We were meant to have dinner and you said you had something important to talk about.”

“Oh. That. Well, I didn’t really,” Draco lied. “I just wanted you to come home on time for once and I thought saying that would help.”

“Right. Okay.”

“I’m sorry I lied.”

“No, it’s all right,” Harry said with a small smile. “I don’t blame you. I know I’ve been a bit… unreliable recently.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Draco agreed. Harry dropped a soft kiss on Draco’s lips.

“I’m just glad ‘important’ didn’t mean anything was wrong.”

“No. Everything’s fine, Potter.”

Two

The following week, Draco sat in his office and stared at the small picture in his hands. He cocked his head this way and that but, if he was being honest, he wouldn’t have been able to recognise an arse from an elbow if it hadn’t all been pointed out to him by the inconceivably patient Healer he had seen that morning.

He was disturbed by a knock on the open door.

“All right, Malfoy?”

“Hello, Granger.”

“Seems like you’re in your own little world over there.”

“I was… distracted.”

“What are you looking at?”

“Picture from the scan.”

“First one?”

“Yes.”

“Did you take Harry with you?”

Draco snorted. “No. I thought the sudden loss of consciousness might distract the Healer.”

“Maybe. Can I have a look?” Hermione asked as she crossed over and perched on the edge of Draco’s desk – mostly because she knew he hated it. Draco passed the picture to her and watched as a frown grew on her face.

“Malfoy…”

“Yes?”

Hermione pointed to the picture. “Is that--” 

“Yes.”

Hermione’s finger moved slightly to the right. “And that’s--”

“It is.”

Hermione’s finger moved further to the right. “And, then, that one--”

“Yes, Granger.”

“Bloody hell.”

“That’s a slightly more civilised version of what I said,” Draco said. 

“You can’t tell Harry about this.”

“I’ll have to eventually.”

“I know. I just think you should wait until the news of the pregnancy has sunk in before you hit him with that bombshell.”

“You’re probably right. I’ll show him the picture anyway. It’s not like he’ll be able to tell the difference.”

“That’s true. He thinks all scan pictures look like pictures of potatoes.”

“At least I’ve got a prop now to help me along.”  
\-------- 

“Draco, what are you doing walking around with an ultrasound picture?”

“It’s mine. Why shouldn’t I walk around with it?” Draco said, attaching it to the noticeboard in the kitchen.

“It’s yours?”

“Yes.”

“The picture’s yours?”

“Yes. The baby in it, too.”

Harry frowned. He then laughed nervously. “I… What?”

“It’s yours, too, of course. Two to tango and all that rot.”

“Draco, what are you on about?”

“I’m pregnant. Ten weeks.”

“Oh… Oh my… Well… Yeah…”

Draco grabbed the mug of tea from Harry’s hand as he cushioned the floor with a flick of his wand. 

“Physical proof doesn’t work, then,” Draco commented. He plucked the scan picture from the noticeboard for another look. He stared at it intently as he leant against the worktop. He drank Harry’s tea with a smile on his face.

Three

Pansy had insisted on taking Draco to look at ‘baby stuff’. Personally, Draco believed it to be a bit early to be buying anything until Pansy had said,

“Maybe Potter needs to see something baby-related to start the cogs working in his brain.”

“Is a scan picture not baby-related enough?” Draco had asked.

“Perhaps that was a bit _too_ baby-related. Middle ground, Draco.”

This was how Draco found himself in the dining room with a tiny, plain white sleepsuit in his hands that evening. He heard Harry arrive home.

“Draco?”

“Dining room!”

Harry’s footsteps clomped through the hall. “Hi,” he said before greeting Draco with a firm kiss.

“Hello.”

“What’s that?” Harry asked.

“It’s a sleep-suit. For a baby.”

“Who’s having a baby?”

Draco ignored him. “It’s sweet, isn’t it, Potter?” he asked instead.

“Er, I suppose. Is it a present for someone?”

“Not exactly.” Draco laid the sleep-suit out over his stomach. “Look at that. Weird to think something that could fill that sleep-suit could fit in my stomach.”

“Malfoy, nothing that would fill that sleep-suit will ever be in your stomach.”

“Will, too. Already is, actually.”

“What are you on about?”

“This is the third time I’ve tried to tell you about the thing in my stomach. The first two times, you fainted.”

“Fainted?”

“Yes, because of that spell you were hit with a few weeks ago.”

“Okay. Isn’t that only supposed to trigger when I get traumatised?”

“Yes. Unfortunately, your subpar brain seems to find the news of my pregnancy traumatic.”

Draco watched Harry’s eyebrows rise, then his eyes glass over. Draco flicked his wand and cushioned the floor despite that little part of his brain saying it wanted to hear the clunk of Harry’s skull on the parquet. 

He watched Harry fall then went to run himself a bath.

Four

Draco informed his Healer of Harry’s situation and she was happy to fit him in for an extra scan in an attempt at explaining this whole pregnancy business. Draco told Harry he wanted some company at an appointment at St Mungo’s and neglected to give him any further information.

When they were ushered into Healer Stanley’s office, Draco was directed to sit on the bed and Harry stood next to him.

“Good morning, Mr. Potter. I’m Healer Stanley from Obstetrics. Very nice to meet you.”

Harry shook hands with the woman and said, “Yeah, you, too. Sorry, you’re from which--”

“Lovely to see you again, Draco,” Healer Stanley swiftly bypassed Harry’s question. “Shall we get straight to the scan?”

“Yes, please,” Draco responded. He unbuttoned his shirt and lay back. Harry watched, bewildered, as Healer Stanley waved her wand in a complicated and unfamiliar pattern over Draco’s torso. 

“Would you like the visual or the audio first?” Healer Stanley asked.

“Perhaps the audio might be less shocking,” Draco suggested.

“Very well.” Another gesture of Healer Stanley’s wand. “And, there, is…” _thu-thud, thu-thud, thu-thud_ “…a heartbeat, gentlemen.”

Harry laughed nervously. “Why would you find Draco’s heartbeat in his stomach?” he asked.

“I haven’t,” Healer Stanley said lightly.

“So, it’s not _his_ heartbeat and… this is a scan… and you’re… What kind of Healer did you say you were?”

“Obstetric.”

“But that’s…”

“Yes, Mr. Potter.”

Luckily, Healer Stanley’s reactions were as quick as Draco’s and Harry bounced gently as he hit the now cushioned floor.

“Well…” Draco sat up and buttoned his shirt. “At least we’re already in the hospital. Thank you for your help, Healer Stanley, but I think the rest of the scan is probably unnecessary now.” 

With that, he righted his clothes and aimed a winsome smile at Healer Stanley’s assistant, who had knelt down by Harry and was now looking up at Draco in pleading shock. Then he left. 

Five

Draco was running out of ideas. One evening, while Harry was in the bath, he fire-called Hermione and Ron and paid little attention to how flustered they seemed.

“I need help,” Draco said, ignoring the sight of Hermione’s heaving bosom as she pulled the sides of her shirt together.

“What’s happened?”

“Nothing’s happened. I’ve just got to try and tell Potter about the pregnancy again and I can’t think how.”

“Is that it? Look, Malfoy, Ron and I were a bit busy so, if you don’t mind, perhaps we could talk about this tomorrow.”

“But we’re both here now.”

“I don’t have any ideas off the top of my head.”

“Come on, Granger, you’re meant to have all the answers.”

“Not to this.”

“Tell me what to do!”

“I don’t know, Malfoy!” Hermione snapped. “Why don’t you just do what you did five years ago when you first started shagging him?”

“Go to a party at Finnigan’s house?”

“I think she means ‘get Harry shit-faced’, mate!” Ron called from somewhere behind Hermione.

“I’m insulted you think I plied him with drink to get him into bed.”

“Was he sober?” Hermione asked knowingly.

“Perhaps not entirely,” Draco replied airily. “But we were equally as drunk as each other. There was no plying on my part. If anyone was plying, it was Finnigan. He’s like a demented fucking Cupid, sponsored by shits, giggles and Grolsch.”

“Malfoy…”

“Yes, fine, I’ll let you get back to your mediocre sex.”

“Thanks, Malfoy!” Ron shouted good-naturedly.

“I’d best get some wine,” Draco muttered distractedly as he removed his head from the fireplace.  
\--------- 

“Potter, do you know what we haven’t done for ages?”

“Gone camping?” Harry suggested with a wry smile. Draco rolled his eyes.

“Strangely, I wasn’t suggesting we abscond to the Lake District this evening. Or ever, in fact. Once was quite enough.”

Harry grinned. “I’ll get you there again.”

“Maybe in your dreams, yes. Anyway, what I was _actually_ suggesting was getting drunk.”

“Drunk?”

“Smashed, shit-faced, trollied, rat-arsed, off our tits. Drunk.”

“Any particular reason you want to get drunk?” Harry asked.

“I need a reason? Since when do I give you anything so mundane as reasoning, Potter?”

“Fair point.”

Draco poured two very large glasses of wine and passed one to Harry. He took a sip of his own so as not to make Harry suspicious then neglected to touch it for the rest of the evening. “Drink up, Potter.”

Two bottles of wine later…

“Malfoy…”

“What?”

“Why are you so… not like I am?”

“Because, despite my lithesome figure and your rugby-player brawn, you are a lightweight,” Draco said. This was, in fact, true. Despite Draco being stone cold sober on this particular occasion, under normal non-pregnant circumstances he could drink Harry under the table.

Harry made a pitchy noise of affront. “Lightweight?”

“Welterweight at a push.”

“Welterweight…” Harry snorted. “Welter… weight. That’s a weird word. And that’s a lot of ‘w’ words.”

“Yes. Well done.” Draco topped up Harry’s glass. “Go on, get that down you.”

“Can’t I get you down me, instead?” Harry asked, trying to look alluring, mainly looking cross-eyed. Draco forced a smile.

“Maybe later,” he said.

“Okay.”

“So, Harry, part of why I wanted to get you drunk was to… share some news. I think you’ll take it better with a bit of wine in you.”

“What kind of news?” Harry asked, face clouded in woozy suspicion.

“Good news, I promise. Brilliant news. News I think you’ll love.”

“I like good news!”

“Yes. So--”

“’Cos it’s not bad news. Bad news is bad, see? And good news is…” Harry frowned and looked up to the ceiling. Because apparently that’s where the word he was looking for lived.

Draco sighed heavily. “Good news is good, Potter?” he suggested.

“Exactly!”

“Right. So. Harry.”

“You’re pretty, Malfoy.”

“Thank you.”

“No, really, you’re lovely. You’ve got all that…” Harry let out a little adoring sigh as he stared at Draco. “Skin.”

“Oh my fucking lord. Yes, Potter, I have all that skin. Now, listen to me.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, nitwit. Now shut up.”

“And if I don’t?”

Draco shrugged and leant back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “Simple. You won’t get your good news.”

Harry instantly clamped his mouth shut and Draco tried to ignore the fact that it made him look like he’d had his teeth taken out. 

“Thank you,” Draco said. “So, the news involves you and I. And a combination of you and I that will be arriving in about six months.”

“I’m too drunk to get that.”

“Harry, three months ago, you shagged me senseless – for, near enough, a solid week – in the wizarding district of Paris. Do you remember that?”

Harry laughed. “Yeah. I liked France. You’d look good in a beret, Draco. And a stripy t-shirt.”

“I’m sure there are national stereotypes from several countries that would suit me,” Draco said. “Anyway, at some point during that week, you gave me something.”

“Blowjob?”

“Several.”

“Rimjob?”

“Just the one. No, wait. Two.”

“What else?”

“A baby.”

“I didn’t give you a baby, Malfoy. I’d remember that. I think. Yeah, I’m quite sure I’d remember stealing a child to give to you. That’s a weird present. It’s a present wrapped up in several layers of crime.”

“Give me strength,” Draco muttered. “No, Potter. The baby isn’t born yet. You gave me a baby in the sense that you made me pregnant.”

“Preg… What?”

“Pregnant. I’m pregnant. You knocked me up.”

Harry gave a short burst of slightly hysterical laughter. Then he looked at Draco’s face. He stopped laughing. He stood up abruptly. And promptly fainted. Draco flicked his wand and cushioned the floor just before Harry hit it. He gave a short sigh, put his feet up on Harry’s abandoned chair and started to plot what he would do next time.

Six

Draco, slender as he was, started to show very early. He had thought this might raise questions from Harry that would lead to a very civilised conversation in which Harry would get the pregnancy idea himself and just ask. Instead, Draco’s ‘little belly’ just gave Harry both endless amusement and the horn. He would tease Draco about how they had become so settled and domestic that Draco had ‘let himself go’ but given the way Harry licked and stroked and generally manhandled the ‘belly’, it was clear he didn’t mind it. Generally the teasing ended with Harry ripping Draco’s clothes off so Draco didn’t bother telling Harry off about it too much. If he did, there was a chance he would miss out on a spectacular fuck. Like the one Harry treated him to late one Saturday night.

“Fuck… Fuck me, Potter… Oh…”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Harry grabbed hold of Draco’s thigh, pushing him to bring his leg further up. Draco did so, wrapping both legs around Harry’s torso. Harry threw some more force and urgency behind his movements and Draco dug his fingers in to Harry’s back.

“Harry!”

“So fucking good, Draco…” Harry dealt a particularly punishing thrust and Draco took it as an opportunity.

“Oh! Mind the baby!”

“What the fuck are you on about?” Harry asked hurriedly.

“If you… oh fuck… If you go too… oh _yes_ … Potter, go too hard and you’ll hurt the baby.”

“Baby? What is that? Some weird… new nickname… for your arse?”

“No… It’s…literal,” Draco said. Harry stopped moving in an instant and Draco whined. 

“What are you telling me?” Harry asked.

“I’m pregnant. Can you keep fucking me now, plea—Oof!” 

That was the moment Draco found himself saddled with the full, dead weight of one Harry James Potter. Draco sighed heavily. “I really didn’t think this one through.”

Seven

Draco wondered if at least part of the reason why Harry processed the news of his pregnancy as being traumatic was because there was nothing to be distracted by. He decided he would involve other people. In an ideal world, sharing this news would be private and Harry would have been the first person to know but it had become clear that a perfect world was something in which Draco did not live. Potter was probably a big part of that.

Even so, he found himself gathering friends – both Harry’s and his own – and decorating Harry’s office with banners and balloons.

“I’m trying to overwhelm the trauma aspect with pure surprise,” Draco explained when Hermione seemed dubious about his plan. “If everyone is really over-the-top happy, en masse, I’m hoping he won’t be traumatised.”

“Well, I would say it sounds like a daft idea but…”

“But?”

“I haven’t got a better one.”

When Harry returned to his office after a particularly boring meeting, he found the lights were all off. Odd. He never did that in the middle of the day. The blinds were drawn, too, and--

**“Surprise!”**

“Fuck!” Harry exclaimed as the lights came on, the blinds flew open and several of his friends jumped up from behind chairs, desks and filing cabinets. “Are you trying to give me a fucking heart attack?”

“Congratulations, Harry!”

“Well done, mate!”

“I knew you had it in you!”

“Good work!”

“Couldn’t be happier for you!”

“What’s all this about?” Harry asked, completely bewildered. Everyone pointed to the huge banner above the door. **_Harry’s the Daddy!_**

“Isn’t it brilliant, Potter?” Draco asked, a big grin on his face. 

“Daddy?”

Draco quickly yanked his shirt from his trousers and pulled it up to his chest. “Your baby’s in there!” Draco exclaimed, pointing to his very slightly rounded stomach.

“How amazing is that, mate?” Ron asked, smiling widely as he slung an arm round Harry’s shoulders. “You got Malfoy up the duff! Good on you!”

“I got him… Oh my god.”

“No, not ‘oh my god’ like someone’s handed you a life sentence, Potter,” Draco said, keeping his smile plastered on his face. “Yay! Hooray! Huzzah! It’s a miracle! It’s wonderful!”

“It’s… It’s…” 

Draco sighed and, full of resignation, asked, “Catch him, would you, Weasley?”

Ron frowned but then Harry slumped. Ron caught him and lowered him to the floor. Everybody stood and stared at Harry for a moment until Blaise broke the silence.

“So… That didn’t quite go to plan.”

“Shut up, Blaise,” Draco said quietly.

“There’s always next time.”

“I said shut the fuck up!” Draco snapped. He stormed out. Hermione rushed after him and Pansy followed after she took a moment to viciously twist Blaise’s nipple through his shirt. Pansy and Hermione caught up to Draco at the end of the corridor.

“Draco, wait!” Pansy called. Draco stopped and turned. It was immediately obvious to both women that he was struggling to hold back tears. 

“I just want to go home.”

“Are you all right?” Hermione asked.

“No! No, I’m not fucking all right! My boyfriend can’t process the idea of me being pregnant with his baby as anything other than _trauma_! What am I supposed to do? I’ve already had to deal with almost a third of this pregnancy by myself. I can’t tell him why I keep snapping, why I’m clingy, why I cry at stupid things. He thinks I’m putting on weight and the fact that he likes it is really of very little comfort to me. I hate that the idea of having a baby with me shocks him so much.”

“Oh, Draco, that’s not what shocks him. He’d love to have a baby with you, I’m sure,” Hermione tried to assure him. “It’s the idea of a man being pregnant that shocks him so much.”

“Granger’s right, Draco,” Pansy said. “If Potter had grown up knowing this was possible, I’m sure he’d just be thrilled. If it weren’t for this spell, I’m sure it would only take him seconds to get over the shock and jump straight to being excited.”

“I can’t even be angry with him about the fainting because it’s not his fault. I’m angry at whatever jumped-up little twerp did this because, now, Potter’s missed two scans. He’s missed hearing the heartbeat. He’s missed the chance to be the first one I told. He should have been first. He… He’s missed three months of this and nobody can get that back for him.”

Neither Pansy nor Hermione had any words that could comfort Draco on that front. 

“I’m sorry, Draco,” Pansy said quietly. 

“I’m going home,” Draco said.  
\--------- 

Eight

Over the next few days, Draco calmed down, Harry continued to tease him about his ‘weight gain’, and Hermione got in touch with Ginny after hearing about her sister-in-law’s current research project. Ginny dropped in at Harry’s office – “Just fancied a chat, Harry, that’s all. Did I tell you what I’m working on at the moment?” – and planted a small seed in his mind. It grew and grew and, one evening almost a week after the surprise party, Harry arrived home with the intention of having a discussion with Draco. Draco had other ideas, however, and Harry ended up on his hands and knees on their bed within twenty minutes of walking through the front door. It scuppered his plans somewhat but it’s not like he was complaining. Well, not exactly.

“Harder, Draco!”

“So demanding.” Draco stilled the motions of his hips. “What do I get if I do as you say?”

Harry shoved his arse back abruptly and gave a firm squeeze around Draco’s cock. Draco’s fingers tightened on Harry’s hips as he let out a loud groan. “Something like that,” Harry snapped. Draco laughed and resumed his movements, harder this time as requested. This was not one of those times where either of them felt the need to drag it out and Draco allowed himself to take whatever he wanted and needed from Harry’s body. He left bruises on Harry’s hips, scratches on his shoulder-blades and, when Draco came, teeth-marks on the back of Harry’s neck as he used the flesh to stifle his loud cry. A few seconds later he became aware that Harry was frantically wanking himself.

“Stop that,” Draco said, reaching under Harry’s body to grab his wrist.

“Draco…”

“Shut up.” Draco parted their bodies and found himself staring at Harry’s well-used arse. Without thinking too much about it, he leant forward and licked lightly before promptly shoving his tongue up Harry’s arse.

“Oh! Oh, Malfoy, you _dirty fucker!_ ”

Draco chuckled. As much as was possible with one’s tongue as far up a man’s behind as one could manage. He listened to Harry’s – practically incomprehensible – pleadings until they became muffled when Harry dropped his face into the pillow. Slightly concerned for Harry’s lung capacity, Draco pulled away abruptly and tugged on Harry’s shoulder. Harry turned onto his back and Draco wasted little time before he took Harry’s cock into his mouth. Harry groaned and shoved his hands into Draco’s hair. Harry couldn’t stop himself hunching his hips and Draco firmly held him down with a forearm. It was hardly the first time Draco had done this, nor the one-hundred-and-first, and it was barely a minute and a half before Harry was coming – copiously – into his mouth. Draco swallowed as much as he could, not all of it by any means, then released Harry’s cock as Harry relaxed into the bed. Draco crawled up and kissed Harry’s cheek. Harry smiled at him and said,

“I love you.”

“I know.”

“Even though I think you’re utterly depraved.”

Draco laughed. “‘Even though’? I thought that was the main reason you fell for me.”

“True.” Harry grinned and kissed Draco firmly. They let it deepen slightly before Draco pulled back and rested his head on Harry’s chest.

“Don’t know how I’m the depraved one in this relationship,” he muttered. “After all, you’re the one who just kissed me after I had my tongue up your arse. While your arse was full of my come. Not to mention, I’d also swallowed _your_ come.”

“What can I say? You’re a bad influence,” Harry said, running his fingers through Draco’s hair. Draco made a little amused noise and closed his eyes. He relaxed against Harry until he was almost asleep, enjoying the gentle ministrations of his lover’s fingers. Then Harry ruined it by speaking.

“Draco?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you asleep?”

“Not quite.”

“Can I talk to you about something?”

“Mmm… S’pose so.”

“Ron was telling me about this… experiment… that Ginny’s working on at her research lab. It’s in the early stages but, I suppose, I just wondered what you thought about it as an idea.”

Draco opened his eyes, suddenly wide awake once more. He knew exactly what Ginny was working on at the moment. “The male pregnancy thing?” he asked, sitting up and leaning back against the headboard.

“Yeah.”

“It’s certainly interesting. What do you think?”

“I’m not sure.” Harry sat up, too. “I like the idea of having children but I’ve come to terms with the idea that, if I do, they won’t be biologically mine. I don’t know how much I like the idea of involving so much magic in such an intentional way.”

“What if it wasn’t so intentional?” Draco asked, trying to keep his nerves from his tone.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what if we could get pregnant just like a straight couple?”

“Well, that would be ideal, wouldn’t it?” Harry said.

“You know, it can happen,” Draco said carefully. “It’s rare, but it happens.”

Harry frowned. “What, men can get pregnant?”

“Wizards can. Every now and then.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“What if… What if I told you I knew of a wizard who was pregnant? What would you think?”

“I don’t know.”

“What if I told you that you know him, too?”

“Do I? Well, either it’s someone I haven’t seen for ages or he’s not very far along.”

“He’s about three months. You know him really well. You know him better than anyone else. You know him… intimately.”

“I knew him intimately? An ex-boyfriend?”

“No, you **know** him intimately. Now.”

“But…”

“And you’ve been making fun of him for putting on weight recently, but he doesn’t mind because he knows that you like it, really,” Draco said quietly, unconsciously laying a hand on his stomach.

“Draco, are you… pregnant?” Harry asked, shifting slightly so he could look straight into Draco’s face.

“Yes,” Draco whispered.

“You’re having my baby?”

“Well, I’m certainly not having Weasley’s. I’ve been trying to tell you for weeks, Potter, but you kept fainting.” Draco hesitated. “So… How do you feel about being a dad?”

A smile slowly grew on Harry’s face and Draco tried not to get his hopes up. He watched as Harry jumped out of bed like it was Christmas morning then, as far as Draco was concerned, fainted. 

“For fuck’s sake!” Draco shouted. So used was he to Harry fainting at the news of their upcoming parenthood, he failed to notice that Harry had actually tripped over his own discarded trousers, fallen, and smacked his head on the bedside table on the way down. If Draco had known this he might not have stayed in bed, sulking. A couple of minutes later, there was a small groan. Draco heard Harry moving about on the floor for a moment before he saw that mess of hair appear above the mattress.

“You know what, Potter?” Draco snapped. “I don’t know why I bother. I may as well just wait until the fucking baby tells you!”

“Until the baby tells me what?” Harry asked, clambering up to sit on the bed.

“That it exists!”

“I know there’s a baby. Sorry it took this long for it to… stick.”

“You know?”

“Yes. You’re pregnant.” A smile grew on Harry’s face. “We’re having a baby.”

“But… You fainted again.”

“I didn’t faint. I tripped. I think I knocked myself out on the table.”

“Oh.” Draco snorted and Harry frowned at him. “Sorry, Harry,” Draco then said before he pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“That’s okay. I really did hit my head,” Harry said. “It hurts. Quite a lot,” he added. Draco ran his fingers through Harry’s hair, along his scalp until he felt a slight bump and Harry hissed, jerking away.

“Maybe we should get you to St Mungo’s,” Draco said gently. “Rule out concussion.”

“Good idea.”

Draco dressed quickly before helping Harry to do the same. He grabbed his wand and was just about to Apparate them both to St Mungo’s when Harry’s hands suddenly pressed against his stomach. Their eyes met and Harry whispered,

“Bloody hell.”

Draco laughed. “Something like that.”

“My baby’s in there,” Harry said, still in a whisper. Draco nodded. Harry broke into a wide smile and Draco saw tears welling in his eyes. He was about to ask if he was all right but Harry took him in an embrace, kissing him softly. When they parted, they were both smiling. Then Harry stumbled even though he was standing still.

“Okay, I really am quite dizzy.”

“We’d best get going.”  
\-------- 

An hour later, Harry was propped up in a hospital bed and Draco was sat in a chair by his side.

“I can’t believe you’re pregnant,” Harry said.

“I can’t believe you’ve finally managed to digest the information.”

“How many times did you try to tell me?”

“If this counts as one then… eight.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Draco said. “You know, I’d be the first to tell you if it was.”

Harry smiled. “Yeah.”

“You know, Potter, I have something else to tell you.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, in all the attempts to tell you about the pregnancy, I decided it would be best to… streamline the truth.”

“In what sense?”

“Well, I’m pregnant… with quintuplets.”

Harry would have fitted in well in a Muggle cartoon at that point, given how far out of his head his eyes seemed to pop. He was clutching the blankets, his knuckles white. Just when he felt like he might keel over, Draco burst out laughing.

“Draco?” Harry said, confused.

“Sorry! That one was just for fun.”

“ _Fun?_ ”

“I’m stuck in a hospital ward because you have not yet learnt to look where you are going. I have to find entertainment where I can.”

“So you’re not having quintuplets.”

“No, Potter.” Draco leant across and kissed Harry quickly. “No quintuplets.”

“Thank fuck for that.”

Draco smiled. “I know. It must be a relief to know it’s only triplets.”

_\- fin -_


End file.
